


Cloudless Climes and Starry Skies

by astudyinrose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Morning After, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:52:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinrose/pseuds/astudyinrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes up in Sherlock's bed the morning after they have sex for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloudless Climes and Starry Skies

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to scullyseviltwin, therealmartinsgrrrl, and watsonshoneybee for being awesome and lovely and all those other great things.

At first John thought it had all been a dream.

He’d had the same one over and over again since he’d moved back into Baker Street. His subconscious carried him to a place where he could finally feel Sherlock’s naked body arching elegantly underneath him, his pale cheeks flushed as John thrust into him deeply. John always awoke from the dream alone in his bed, rock hard and with a deep sense of loss. 

This time though, the dream had been particularly vivid and real. He could almost feel the beat of Sherlock’s heart, almost hear the whispered nothings and sighs of pleasure in the dark. It was like a piece of silk slipping through his fingers, ethereal yet tangible.

The morning sunlight was starting to peek in through the window, threatening to bring him to consciousness, so John groaned and burrowed more deeply into his pillow. As he drifted through what was starting to feel like a terrible hangover, he could almost imagine that he could smell Sherlock’s hair. It was like squinting while looking at the sun. 

Despite his best efforts, John felt himself surfacing from the world of dreams. He sighed, blinking his eyes open and staring at the wall. He felt slightly queasy, as if the bed were shifting underneath him, so it took him a moment to realize why something seemed off. He wasn't staring at the slate blue wall of his room; rather, the wall was a vibrant shade of green.

 _Green._  

John slowly turned over onto his other side, wincing slightly at the protest from his aching limbs. His eyes widened slightly when he saw Sherlock sleeping peacefully next to him, his face half turned toward John. The sheet was bunched around his waist and an arm was thrown over his head.  

 _Oh, god,_ John thought _._ After so long, after hundreds of fantasies and too many years apart, it didn’t feel real.  

Slowly, what had happened the night before started to filter back into his addled brain. They’d finished a case and had immediately gone to their favourite Chinese restaurant where one bottle of wine had turned into two, and John felt the same kind of kinetic energy flowing between them that he’d felt on his stag night.  
  
The wine, the light from the Chinese lanterns, and the high from solving a case bathed everything in rosiness, and for the first time in a long time he’d forgotten about Mary and her betrayal. They had stayed until the waiter had started giving them the side-eye. After swaying their way back to the flat, Sherlock had closed the door behind them, and had turned back to lean against it. Both of them had stared at each other for a long time, until Sherlock had stepped forward and cupped John’s face, leaning down to kiss him with a forcefulness that John hadn’t expected. But then Sherlock had leaned back, his eyes wide, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had just done. 

“John, I--I’m--” Sherlock had stuttered, moving half a step back.

With a surety he hadn’t known he possessed, John had curled his hands into the lapels of Sherlock’s coat, pushing him back into the door and kissing him deeply. Sherlock had melted into his embrace, and it had felt like something had clicked into place. They’d ended up in bed together, Sherlock begging for all of John, and John giving everything of himself gladly. 

Now, John let his eyes wander a bit, down Sherlock’s torso to his narrow hips, then back up to the curling hair over Sherlock’s pale forehead. His lush lips that looked a bit raw from all the kissing the evening before, and his eyelids were fluttering slightly in his sleep. It was surreal to see Sherlock in such a vulnerable position in the light of day. 

Was he allowed to move closer? The morning after was one of John’s favourite parts of being with someone, but maybe Sherlock wouldn’t want this. He’d always seemed to eschew romantic relationships, after all.   

The night before, they’d had the excuse of one too many glasses of wine, and the accompanying uncertainty and nervousness about their first time had been cloaked in nighttime darkness. But they hadn’t talked about what it all meant.  

John rubbed his eyes with one hand, leaning back slightly to look up at the ceiling. They were more than they were before, but it was still viscous, unformed, not fully actualized. After so many years of waiting to be with Sherlock, the burden of longing he had carried for far too long had finally been lifted. The problem was, now John had no idea how to act around Sherlock. They knew each other inside out, possibly better than two people had ever known each other before, but now it was as if they had turned over a stone and found another world underneath.

Sherlock shifted slightly, and John bit his bottom lip, his heart starting to beat faster. Sherlock groaned, cracking one eye open and meeting John’s gaze.

“Good morning,” John whispered, the apprehension he’d been feeling a moment earlier fluttering away like a leaf in the wind. 

“Morning.” 

“How’re you feeling?” John ventured. 

“Mmm,” Sherlock hummed, closing his eye again. “Headache.”

“We did have a lot of wine.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock hummed again, reaching out blindly toward John. John took the opportunity to slot his leg between Sherlock’s, moving a bit closer. Sherlock slid his arm around John’s waist, nuzzling into John’s shoulder, and made a little sigh of contentment that made John’s heart skip a beat.  

John watched Sherlock’s relaxed face, trying to suppress the happiness threatening to burst from his chest.

“Are you watching me sleep?” Sherlock mumbled after a while. 

“No,” he lied.

Sherlock opened his eyes blearily, looking up at him with the fondly scathing look that he’d given John many times before... but never when they were in bed together.  

The silence lengthened as John’s gaze slid down to Sherlock’s lips. 

“John...” Sherlock cleared his throat. “I have to tell you something.”

John slid his fingertips up Sherlock’s spine reassuringly. “What is it?” 

“I just… I want to warn you. I’ve… never done this before. You must know that, or at least you have suspected.”

John raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, to your credit, I couldn’t tell.”  

Sherlock frowned. “What?” 

John raised the other eyebrow. 

Understanding dawned on Sherlock’s face. “No, not _that_ , I mean, I’ve done _that_ before.”

John’s mouth twitched in derision. “What, then?”

Sherlock bit his bottom lip. “The… _after_.” Sherlock ran his hand through his hair. “Sleeping in the same bed with someone, waking up next to them the next morning… this.” He gestured between their intertwined bodies. 

“Cuddling?” John suggested.

Sherlock made a face like he’d bitten into something sour. “Surely there’s another word for it.” 

John stifled a laugh. “Well, whatever you want to call it, you seem to be doing fine.” 

Sherlock sighed again, as if John were being slow on purpose. “I don’t know if I’m doing it wrong. You’ve done all this before, I haven’t. You’ll have to tell me if I cock it up.”

“It’s rather hard to cock up cuddling.” 

“ _John_.” Sherlock worried his lip again, looking up at him with eyes like the sea after a storm.  

After a moment, John realized that Sherlock was truly worried about not living up to John’s expectations. The notion that Sherlock could be anything other than exactly what John wanted was so ridiculous that John felt the last of his own reservations melting away, and affection bloomed in his chest anew. 

“You won’t cock it up,” he said softly. “I won’t let you.” 

"I..." Sherlock trailed off. 

John cupped Sherlock’s cheek, and Sherlock closed his eyes as if savoring the feeling.

“I know I didn’t say it last night but… I want… I want to be with you. Like this. I know you waited for me to be okay after…” he swallowed, feeling a tightness in his throat. “After. But… we can do this. I want to. You know that right?" John cleared his throat. Sherlock leaned back enough to meet his gaze.

"Yes," Sherlock whispered, his eyes a torrent of grey, green and blue. “That doesn’t mean I won’t be bad at this. That I won’t make you want to leave.”

John bit the side of his cheek. “I think I pretty much know everything you could possibly throw at me at this point, don’t you?”

“I don’t want you to regret this,” Sherlock said softly. “I don’t--”

"I'm not letting you back away from me,” John interrupted, suddenly feeling more certain than he had before in the face of Sherlock’s doubt. “Not now that we have found each other, not now that we have this. I couldn’t wait any longer if I tried.” John dipped down to kiss him deeply once. When he pulled back, it was only a half inch.

"You're mine. And I'm yours. That’s all I know. We’ll figure out the rest as we go along. Okay?" 

John gave Sherlock his best soldier stare, and for a long moment it was like time had been suspended. Sherlock almost seemed to have stopped breathing.

"So?" John prompted finally.  

“Okay," Sherlock rasped.

“Okay?” John raised an eyebrow again.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, his voice so low that it was barely audible. 

Smiling broadly, John closed his eyes as he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s once more.

At first, it was just a gentle slide of lips and the hint of tongue, but once John nipped at Sherlock’s tongue, it turned more heated. John slid his hand under the sheet to brush his fingers down Sherlock’s stomach and stroke his cock once. Sherlock inhaled sharply, shifting his legs a bit for better access. The kiss now had a sharp edge to it, of want. Need.

John could feel Sherlock’s cock getting hard under his fingertips. He continued to stroke it slowly as Sherlock made little sighs and moans into his mouth, and John’s own cock started to get hard in response. He kissed lightly down Sherlock’s neck, nipping at his pulse point, continuing to slide his hand up and down Sherlock’s length at a languid pace.

He kissed down Sherlock’s chest until he could tease Sherlock’s nipple with his tongue, and Sherlock’s fingers raked down John’s back.  John tongued the other nipple until it got hard, teasing the head of Sherlock’s cock with his thumb. 

“You don’t play fair,” Sherlock gasped into his neck.

“All’s fair in love and--”

Sherlock surprised him with a sudden motion, swinging his leg over so that he could pull himself up onto John’s lap.  

“War?” Sherlock offered as he leaned down to nibble at John’s earlobe, starting to undulate up and down slowly so that their cocks slid against each other.

“Oh, _Christ_.” John slid his hands around Sherlock’s waist, his head falling back against the headboard. “Do you want… the lube…”

“I don’t think I can handle you inside me after last night, as much as I want to. It’s been a while and I’m a bit sore,” Sherlock said, continuing his ministrations. “But we can do... other things.” 

He reached down to bring both their cocks together, and started to thrust upward harder, leaning down to kiss John again.

John moaned into his mouth, reaching up to slide his fingers into Sherlock’s hair, tugging it just enough not to cause actual pain, as they started moving in sync. 

Sherlock thumbed at the heads of their cocks, and John felt himself getting close already. They continued like that for some time, until Sherlock started thrusting with more intent. John reached down with both hands to grasp Sherlock by the hips, holding on for the ride.

“Oh, god,” John gasped. “Going-- going to--” 

Sherlock smirked, then raised up onto his knees enough that their cocks were no longer touching. 

“What-- what are you--” John stuttered, his heart racing.

Sherlock sat down again, but closer to John’s chest this time, so that John’s cock was behind him instead of in front. He reached back to ensure that John’s cock was nestled in between his cheeks, not inside, but sliding along his opening.  

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” John whispered, his head falling back as he felt his cock enveloped in new heat and friction. 

Grinning wickedly, Sherlock started to lift up and down, slowly, languidly, simulating the feeling of John being inside him. 

“Bastard,” John gasped, and Sherlock grinned even wider, clenching his cheeks together so that John had even more friction around his cock.

John grasped at his hips with one hand, pulling Sherlock’s head down with the other for another scorching kiss as he started to thrust upwards into Sherlock’s cleft. 

Sherlock’s cock, now leaking slightly, was rubbing against John’s stomach. He pushed both palms against the headboard to allow John to thrust up harder.  

“John,” he gasped.

“Going to come,” John managed.  

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open, meeting John’s gaze. “Do it.”

As searing blue eyes held his, John couldn’t control himself anymore, and he was coming and coming, still thrusting hard upward and crying out into Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock held him through it until John finally felt himself coming down from his orgasm. 

“Fuck,” John gasped.  

“Almost,” Sherlock said, nibbling at his ear. 

John chuckled, sliding his fingers up Sherlock’s back to his shoulders and twisting Sherlock down to the bed on his back. 

“Your turn,” he whispered. He kissed down Sherlock’s torso until his head was even with Sherlock’s still-hard, leaking cock.

Sherlock arched as John enveloped the head of his cock with his mouth, swirling his tongue around and licking the most sensitive part as he stroked the base. 

Sherlock was already a trembling mess by the time John licked two fingers of his fingers and then swallowed Sherlock all the way down. He bottomed out, his eyes watering with the effort, as he circled Sherlock’s hole with his fingers, just barely pressing inward, holding back enough not to overstimulate his already-tired muscle. Sherlock slid his fingers through John’s hair, making small thrusts up into John’s mouth, and John could see it in his face as he started to come. He pulled off again, just teasing the head as he stroked the bottom of Sherlock’s cock with his hand, faster and faster, until Sherlock was coming in long pulses down his throat.

Once Sherlock finally relaxed back into the bed, John lapped at his cock, swallowing the last of it, then crawled back up to the head of the bed and collapsed. Sherlock leaned over to kiss him vociferously, peppering kisses all over his face. 

It would be one of thousands, the first kiss of the rest of their life, if he had anything to say about it. When the thought crossed his mind, he felt himself smile into Sherlock’s lips, and Sherlock started smiling too, but neither of them pulled back enough to see it. 

After a long while, John finally leaned back, propping his head up on his elbow. 

Sherlock smiled up at him, looking younger than he had in years. “Breakfast?” 

“Starving.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is taken from Lord Byron's poem ["She walks in beauty"](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173100)


End file.
